


Allow Me to Exaggerate a Memory or Two

by LlLACFUMES



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 5+1 Things, Boyfriends, Boys Kissing, Boys' Love, Bullying, F slur, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reddie, Underage Drug Use, Wow, bev and ben are in love, brief mentions of Stenbrough, eddie gets beat up, movie tl, not rlly though, okay here we go, only in one, punk!richie tbh, this is so bad, this is super soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LlLACFUMES/pseuds/LlLACFUMES
Summary: Eddie listens, which is different. Eddie listens, because most of it is actually worth listening to. (Or 5 times that Richie says, “I love you,”  over the years without really saying it, and the one time he does.)





	Allow Me to Exaggerate a Memory or Two

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Me again! It's been a while since I have posted anything. I was in a rut and then this took like a week to finish. It's still not where I'd like it to be but it's fine. Thank you so much for reading! You can contact me any time on my twitter, @warmkaspbrak!

One, 13:

It’s around 11am when Eddie gets out of the orthopedist. He had gone to get his cast off, doing so without actually telling his mom. He knows that if she had come with him, he wouldn't have left with his arm free. He walks down the street, the office having been closer to downtown than the Emergency Room. He whistles as he walks, a spring in his step. He was  _ excited.  _ He was hanging out with Richie at the arcade in a little under an hour, his other friends have been busy. He didn’t mind much, he enjoyed Richie’s company. He always had, truthfully. He just liked to pretend that he didn’t. 

He crosses the street at Main, walking through a trash infested alley before popping out on the other side. He doesn’t hear the loud laughter on the side, doesn’t recognize it at least. It isn’t until a loud  _ belch  _ surfaces that he realizes who must be on the left of him. It’s just Eddie’s luck that he notices it all too late. 

“Aye!” A voice calls, filled with toxicity. Eddie keeps on walking. “Aye! I know you can hear me, shortstack.” 

“Wheezie! You heard him! Get your ass back here!” Another taunting voice calls, this the one of Patrick Hockstetter. Eddie picks up his pace, hoping to walk fast enough, hoping to get into town fast enough. He knows it won’t matter, that even if he does make it to the arcade before they catch up, it’ll be in vain. No one would stop them from ripping him to shreds. His heart begins to race. He hears heavy footsteps behind him, running. A rough hand grabs him by the shoulder, and throws him against the wall. His head smacks hard into the brick, a buzzing filling his ears. He’s harshly turned towards his attacker, Henry’s foul breath soaking his face.

“You fuckin’ listen to me when I talk to you, Kaspbrak.” Henry Bowers spats in his face. A hard punch is landed onto the side of his ear, and it feels like going underwater. He sees Victor, Patrick and Belch standing around, this job obviously not needing more than one man. He doesn’t have the consciousness to be offended by that. He’s honestly more grateful. Eddie wonders how far they’ll take it this time. He hopes Henry is tired, and that he’ll give him one good hit and make his way down the block, terrorizing other kids who would put up more of a fight than he is right now. Henry gives him a good kick in the knee, bringing Eddie down, and Eddie’s hopes are crushed. His head is fuzzy, and his vision is blurred. He hopes he isn’t crying.

Down on the ground now, Henry gives him three kicks in the stomach. He goes numb after the second. His eyes focus in and out, his stomach rolling over itself. 

“Stop!” Eddie gasps, choking on the word. He hears Victor laugh. 

“ _ Stop!”  _ Belch mocks, getting a snort from Patrick. Henry kicks him in the jaw, his head knocking back. Henry leans down, squatting by his face. He spits, right on his cheek, and Eddie thinks he should probably be disgusted. He can’t really feel anything. Henry grabs his hair, pulls his head up and looks him right in the eyes. 

“You don’t fuck with me. You hear me?” He says venomously. “Fucking faggot.” He yanks Eddie’s hair one last time, before leaving him there. Eddie watches, barely conscious as they  walk away. His eyes feel heavy, and he vaguely remembers that you aren’t supposed to fall asleep with a head injury. He finds he’s too tired to care. 

Eddie has vivid dreams. Of sewers, and of a blood coated bathroom. He dreams of a leper, taunting him,  _ ‘I’ll blow ya for a quarter’.  _ He dreams his arm gets ripped off, he dreams of a clown. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Richie finds him. 

“Eddie! Fuck, Eddie!” A voice says, and it’s so much warmer than the haunted one that traveled through his dreams. The heavy beating of his heart slows down. A color, bright yellow, fills his head. His cheeks flush, and he sighs. “Eddie, you gotta get up. C’mon.” The voice repeats, oddly pained. He doesn’t want to get up, not anymore. The voice rolls over his body, warming it up. He registers a hand on his cheek, but it feels miles away. “What the fuck did they do to you?” The voice says. Eddie notices it’s a boy. “Are you even breathing?” The boy asks, shaking his shoulder violently, the hand on his cheek, closer now, stroking softly. The motions contradict themselves in the best way.  _ I’m fine just where I am,  _ he thinks.  _ Don’t worry about me.  _ “I swear to god if you’re dead, I am going to kill you myself.” The boy says, and it’s the stupidity of the sentence that makes Eddie float up to his body. He feels his head settle in, his fingers twitch. A pain, a strong pain runs through him, lashes over his body like angry waves. He flinches, a gasp fighting through him, his ribs angrily fighting back. His eyes slip open, his head pounding in the light. He sees Richie. “Oh my god, oh fuck.” Richie says, flinging his arms around Eddie. The tightness of Richie’s arms makes his body curl into itself, the pain unlike anything he has ever felt. He gasps again. 

“Ow.” He says, slowly. He tongue feels huge and far away, his head moving sluggishly and quickly at the same time. 

“I thought you were fucking dead, Eddie. Jesus Christ.” Richie says, his hand curling in Eddie’s hair.  _ Me too,  _ he thinks. 

“M’not.” He clarifies. “Don’t feel too good though,” Eddie says. Richie pulls away, and Eddie looks into his eyes. Richie’s usually warm, calm brown eyes are wild. They’re filled with worry, and they shift too much, making Eddie’s stomach hurt. 

“Was it Bowers?” Richie asks, and confusion fills Eddie. 

“Was what-” He starts before the memories flow in. Eddie gasps, suddenly, then he gasps again. His chest tightens, almost violently, and he starts heaving. He feels his throat closing in. His head, which was already throbbing, spins. 

“Fuck,” Richie mutters, gripping Eddie’s arm with one hand as he reaches into his own pocket with another. Richie grabs one of Eddie’s inhalers, and positions it in front of Eddie’s mouth with shaking hands. Eddie grabs it, and presses the trigger. A bitter, chemical taste fills his mouth, but relaxes his lungs. He breathes in one, two more times before pulling it out. Richie looks at him with questioning eyes, and Eddie nods. Richie takes the inhaler back, placing it in his pocket. He cups Eddie’s jaw with one hand, gently turning Eddie’s face to inspect the damage. Eddie hisses under his breath. “You scared the shit out of me.” Richie says, and Eddie looks up.

He can tell, Richie has his emotions written all over his face. Eddie takes the initiative this time, and wraps his arms around Richie. 

It’s only later, as he lies in a hospital bed in the Derry Emergency Room, that he remembers that Richie had a spare inhaler in his pocket.  _ His  _ spare inhaler. He doesn’t know what to make of the blush that rushes to his face, but it feels good. It feels natural. 

\----

Two, 14:

Eddie thinks that he’s in the clear when he stumbles down the stairs. He should know better. “ _ Edddddieeee!”  _ He hears his mother call, and he sighs. He crosses the hallway and walks into the room where his mother is sat in front of the television. “Eddie!” She says once she spots him. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but closes abruptly once she focuses on him. Her eyes narrow. “And just where do you think you’re off to?” She asks, noting his appearance. 

He sighs. “To the Quarry, Ma. With my friends?” Her eyebrows almost disappear into her hairline. 

“Eddie,” She says, her voice sickeningly sweet, “You can’t. You had a fever yesterday, remember?” Her voice makes him shiver, and her brown eyes are hot on him, daring him to contradict her. 

“I didn’t have a fever, Ma. My temperature was normal. 97.” She shakes her head slowly. 

“Well, it’s not a good idea. You’ll get sick, hanging around those friends of yours.’ Her nose is upturned in disgust. He furrows his eyebrows. 

“Not unless they’re sick. That’s how it works.” 

“I wasn’t talking about a cold, dear.” Confusion fills Eddie’s head. Does she think he’d be able to catch Bill’s stutter? “I see the way that  _ boy  _ looks at you, Eddie. It’s revolting.” She spits. Heat rushes to Eddie’s cheeks, his body reacting to the accusation before his mind can. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma, please.” He says, a hint of desperation in his voice. He has an overwhelming urge to run. 

“I’m not blind, Eddie. I know what that dirty Tozier boy has in mind. Nothing good can come of having a friend like  _ that.”  _ She says the words with so much venom it’s hard to believe that it’s the same woman. Her eyes move from him back to the television. “My Eddie will not have a  _ faggot  _ for a friend,” She says, and it’s like she's talking to herself. Eddie feels stuck, like his feet are melting into the toxic ground. His face is fever hot, and he thinks he should find that ironic. Most of his mind is occupied on finding out how to breathe. “No, no. You won’t be getting infected like that boy did. I won’t allow it. I will  _ not  _ have one of those for a son.” Eddie shudders. 

“Richie- Richie is my  _ friend _ Ma, nothing else. I promise.” She glares at him. 

“Will he be there today? Where you’re going?” She questions hotly. 

“No.” He says, quickly. Eddie knows it’s his best bet on getting out of there. She nods slowly, and a smile fills her thick cheeks, her eyes void of all emotion. 

“Have fun, dear.” 

\----

If Eddie has an asthma attack on the way there, and has to run into the bathroom at the pharmacy to clean the tear tracks off his cheeks, no one needs to know about it.

\----

He gets to the Quarry first, and he plops down on the ground. He swipes a shaky hand underneath his eyes once more, just to be sure. His mind is reeling, and his mother's voice is replaying in his head. He almost doesn’t hear the voices strolling up by him. Mike and Richie are walking towards him, talking excitedly. 

“ _ Shut up!”  _ Mike says wildly, an awed look in his eyes. Richie shakes his head excitedly. 

“I’m serious!” He says, “It was gnarly! She just took this big hammer to his feet and  _ whack!  _ Broke both his ankles, I’m tellin’ ya.” Eddie’s stomach heaves at the thought. Richie had gone and seen a movie last night around eight. It was supposed to be this real scary one, Eddie refused to go to it. (In all actuality, his mother forbade him from going near anything to do with,  _ such a vulgar movie like that,  _ but Eddie doesn’t hate himself enough to admit that aloud. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.)

“Hi Eddie!” Mike calls once they approach, and Eddie smiles. Richie has silenced, and he’s staring right at Eddie, a concerned expression filling his face. Eddie knows how he must look, eyes red and glassy, his skin pale and sweat gathering at the tippy top of his forehead. He knows he certainly isn’t a sight for sore eyes right now, he prays Richie will keep quiet. 

“Whatcha doin’?” Richie asks, plopping down right next to him. Eddie smiles softly to himself, sighing for show. 

“ _ Trying _ to enjoy the quiet. Though you make it almost impossible.” He says. His voice sounds weird and scratchy, and it makes him cringe. Richie is still looking at him weird, but Eddie doesn’t have the confidence to tell him to spit it out. Richie doesn’t take the bait with the insult, he just scooches closer, until their shoulders are touching, ( _ I will not have one of those for a son,)  _ and his coke bottled gaze is set at the murky water down below.

“You gonna tell me what’s up?” Richie asks, in the quietest voice Eddie has ever heard him speak in. A wave of fresh tears threatens the back of Eddie’s eyes, but he sniffs them away. 

“I’d- uh, rather not.” He says, still staring down at the water. 

“Eds-”

“I’m just being stupid, really.” He says, finally looking up to look at Richie in the eyes. “It’s no big deal.” Richie sighs, and Eddie knows he isn’t happy. Richie reaches over and grips Eddie’s hand tightly in his own, ( _ My Eddie will not have a faggot for a friend.)  _ and Eddie leans his head onto Richie’s shoulder, and takes a deep breath. 

“You wanna stay at mine tonight?” Richie asks. 

“Yea. Please.” Eddie says. 

\----

And if Richie spends the entire night curled around Eddie, and Eddie has the best sleep he’s had in a long time, well, no one needs to know about that either. 

\----

Three, 15:

“You have, like, really nice eyes.” Emma, his lab partner says. Eddie squints at his beaker, a blush involuntarily climbing his cheeks. 

“Thanks?” He says, laughing a little. She smiles at him brightly and looks at her own paper. Eddie continues monitoring his concoction, taking any notes on the changes every five minutes. He hears the loud  _ scrape  _ of a metal chair dragging on the linoleum floor, and a sickly sweet smell fills his nose. Perfume, and bubble gum. He shivers. He turns and looks, seeing that Emma has scooted closer, and is practically leaning over him. He raises his eyebrows at her, and she looks up from staring at the green-blue color in his glass to look at him. She smiles and leans closer. “I can- I can move the beaker if you can’t see it.” He says slowly, confused. She furrows her eyebrows but backs off. He sighs and continues taking notes. 

He doesn’t mind chemistry, it’s actually one of his favorite classes. He understands it more than math, and he’s actually able to participate in it, unlike phys ed. Eddie jots down some more notes, before hearing the classroom door bang open. He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s Richie. 

“Ah, Mr. Tozier. So nice of you to join us.” Mrs. Laws says. Richie tips an invisible hat at her, smirking. 

“Always a pleasure, Stacy.” He says. Eddie scoffs, and Richie turns to look at him. He smiles widely, reaching over to ruffle Eddie’s hair. Eddie slaps his hands away. 

“I  _ hate  _ you.” He says, giggling. 

“Lies!” Richie says, blowing a kiss before strutting over to his own table. Eddie snorts again to himself, and looks up at the clock. He glances over at Emma, who is already staring at him. He gives her a closed-lipped smile and glances back down at his work. He hears the sound of her chair scooting closer again, and he exhales. 

“So.” She says. Eddie peers up again, and nods. “What are you doing this weekend?” She asks, and he furrows his eyebrows. The homecoming dance was this weekend. He didn’t have any plans, he was just going to do what he always did. Get ready with his friends, and pile in Mike’s car, cause he can drive, and go together. 

“The- uh, the dance? I’m going to the dance.” He stumbles. The question made him uncomfortable. He can’t remember the last time he had even talked to Emma, let alone discussed weekend plans. She smiles and nods at him encouragingly. The action reminds him of his mother. 

“Are you going with anyone?” She asks. He frowns, looking behind her. Richie was staring right at them, a blank expression on his face. He keeps his eyes on Richie’s brown ones while he answers. 

“My friends.” The response doesn’t leave much room for debate, but she seems entirely oblivious. He looks back at her, and she laughs. 

“No. dummy. Are you  _ taking  _ anyone. Like a date.” She retorts, and he flinches. His cheeks flush, that awful, crawling embarrassment filling his arms and legs. He sniffs, and runs his nimble fingers through his hair. Did he  _ want  _ to take anyone? Maybe. He doesn’t ever really have anyone to dance with during the slow songs, and Mike and his girlfriend always make it look nice. 

“Well, I-”

“Hey, Eds! Can you help me with this?” Richie calls, and Eddie turns his head quickly to look at him. Eddie nods, sliding out of his seat and briskly walking over. Richie smiles at him warmly and gestures to his paper. “I don’t get it.”   
“Okay, well, first of all, you haven’t even written your name down yet.” Eddie scoffs, laughing a little. Richie elbows him and scribbles his name in his messy scratch. Eddie admires the curve of the R in Richie’s name, and how almost every other letter in, ‘Richie Tozier,’ is cursive, and some are not. He’d be able to tell Richie’s handwriting was his own from a mile away. 

“Okay. What next?” Richie asks, and Eddie sighs. He takes a seat in the empty chair next to Richie. The taller boy always showed up late, so Mrs. Laws didn’t bother to assign him a lab partner. Richie didn’t mind, because: “ _ Why do I need a lab partner when I can just bug my cute little Eds the whole period?”  _

“Okay, so you mix beaker A and beaker B in with the yeast, and measure the growth every five minutes.” Eddie explains.   
“You’re so smart, Eds.” Richie says, cheekily. He leans over and presses a kiss against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie scoffs and wipes it away. Though his violent scrubbing on his warm cheek doesn’t manage to stop the warm pink color from flooding his face anyway. 

“All I did was read  _ exactly  _ what the directions said.” He exclaims, fondly rolling his eyes at Richie. “And don’t call me that.” Richie just gives him another blinding smile, before leaning down and firmly staring at the mixture, like it would run away if he took his eyes off of ir. “You are so weird,” Eddie says, jokingly. Richie doesn’t answer, holding up his finger in a, ‘ _ Shh!’  _ motion. Eddie scoffs. He stays put because he can’t think of another reason to go back to the awkward situation at his own table. He knows what Emma was implying, he knows what he’s meant to do. He can here his mother's high pitched cry as if she’s right there; “ _ When are you going to bring a nice girl home, Eddie dear? You're always hanging out with those boys. Don’t you want a girlfriend?”  _ Eddie didn’t want a  _ nice  _ girl. He was perfectly content with his friends. Plus, Beverly was nice enough. He didn’t understand why he needed another girl in his life. Dating was overrated anyway. He’ll stick with his friends, thank you very much. 

“So what were you and that girl talking about?” Richie asks. Eddie is shaken out of his thoughts, and he peers down at where Richie is still leaning against the table, his head resting on his warm denim jacket. 

“What?’

“That girl. You seemed pretty into it.”

“Oh. Well, I guess.” Eddie says, puzzled. “She was asking what I was doing for the dance.” Richie nods, a pondering look on his face.

“What’d you say?” He asks, his eyes still trained on the unchanging beaker. Eddie wishes he would look at him. 

“Well I think she wanted me to, you know.” Eddie says carefully. “Ask her.” Richie’s brow furrows, and he glances down at his hands. 

“Oh. Cool.” He chimes, quiet. Eddie frowns. “Are you going to?” 

“Should I?” Now Richie looks up. His eyes are still, not exactly sad, but somber. Like he’s mourning. He doesn’t answer. “I mean, I don’t even know her. But it would be nice to go with someone. That’s like, you know.” He fumbles, “Not a friend.” Richie shrugs and looks at him. 

“You can be friends and still like someone. Or at least like em’ enough to go to a stupid dance with them.” Richie says, and Eddie supposes he’s right. He had always separated dating from friendships like once you started holding hands and kissing someone, you automatically stopped being friends with them. To be truthful, he hasn’t had much practice with dating. He hasn’t had any, in fact. He nods at Richie. 

“Well then, I think I’ll just-”

“You could go with me.” Richie says. Eddie just about chokes on his own spit. He’d give Richie shit about interrupting him if he could hear his voice through the beating of his heart pounding emphatically in his own ears. 

“What?” He says, eyes wide. Richie shrugs, still not looking at him. 

“It doesn’t have to be like, a thing.” He mumbles. “Just-,” Richie sighs. “I mean, we go with each other to all the dances anyway. This is just more official.” Eddie’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, and he’s sure he resembles something closer to a tomato than an actual human at this point. He doesn’t know what to do with the giddy feeling that rushes through his bones. The idea of going with Richie to their shitty winter dance is so much more  _ inviting  _ than going with that girl. Eddie doesn’t realize how long he’s been silence until Richie, also beet red, says quickly;

“Nevermind. Forget I even-”

“I’ll go with you.” Eddie says, quickly. Richie’s face turns ten shades redder, and he looks Eddie right in the eyes. Richie makes Eddie sort of breathless, he realizes. With his brown eyes, and crooked blinding smile, and chocolate hair. He’s a goddamn work of art. It almost hurts to look at him. Eddie is sure he’s got the nerdiest look of pure awe on his face. He doesn’t care. 

“You will?” Richie asks. 

“Yea, like you said. We go together anyway. Might as well make it official.” 

\----

The night of the dance, Richie shows up in this ridiculous blue suit, and Eddie really should be mad. All he can think about is how the pastel color compliments Richie’s eyes. 

\----

Four, 16:

Eddie is fucking  _ floating.  _

He tells this to the group as he lays down on the soft couch in Richie’s out house. The whole group was stoned, for lack of a better word. He can’t remember who brought it. He also can’t really remember smoking it. He finds he’s more relaxed than he’s ever been before. Richie has his record player setup, and a soft tune is playing on it. Eddie rolls over onto his stomach, and it feels like his mind gets there before his body does. He giggles helplessly into the couch. 

“Bill, Bill, shut up.” Stan says abruptly, attempting to stand up. He wobbles dangerously when he gets there, but with a cold hand on Ben’s shoulder, he makes it okay. “I have- I have an announcement.” 

“We believe in you, bud!” Ben says, causing Bev to snort loudly and dig her head into his shoulder. 

“I love you!” Stan shouts, pointing right at Ben’s face. Ben laughs. “I love all of you. What the fuck.” Stan says. Richie laughs from his spot on the ground, leaning his head back on the on the sofa. Stan plops back down, smacking Bill’s knee as he does so. 

“Was that it?” Eddie says, and Stan flips him off. Richie looks at Eddie suddenly, and his face fills with surprise, like Eddie  _ hasn’t  _ been sitting there the whole time. 

“Eddie!” He exclaims, crawling over till he’s right under Eddie’s head where it lays on the couch. 

“Richie!” He says, just as loudly. Richie grins at him. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” He starts, but then continues saying Eddie’s name for what feels like fifteen minutes. Richie realizes what he’s doing, and he laughs loudly to himself. “Eddie! You’re so pretty, Eds.” He says. Eddie smiles softly, his brain pulsing in his head. 

“Shutup.” He slurs, eyes closed and a dazed grin playing on his cheeks. 

“No! It’s not fair, Eddie.” Richie says, like his face was the biggest inconvenience in the world. “My eyes, they  _ hurt  _ when I look at you.” Eddie scoffs.

“I,” He starts. “Am not the sun.” Richie flicks him in the nose, causing his eyes to shoot open. Richie is nose to nose with him. His eyes, bloodshot and tired looking, stare right at Eddie. 

“You  _ are  _ the sun, you little shit.” Richie sighs. “Make my life so difficult, being so damn pretty all the time.” Eddie laughs, moving his sluggish hand to comb through Richie’s hair. Richie smiles at him, before resting his head on the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie feels Richie’s soft, warm breath wash over him. Eddie doesn’t think the word; _ ‘content’,  _ has ever meant more to him. 

“H-Hey f-fuh-fuckers.” Bill says, sitting up. “T-truth or duh-dare to-time.” Richie sits up, sniffs, and leans his back against the couch. Eddie sits up as well, so he’s facing forward and the back of Richie’s head is comfortably resting in between his legs. 

“Why?” Eddie whines. He doesn’t actually mind, his mind won't’ allow him to. Truth or dare for them is usually an excuse for Beverly and Ben to kiss and Stan and Bill to compliment each other. 

“Because!” Mike says, a wild grin on his face. Whatever person is able to resist and excited, smiling Mike Hanlon, was a stronger man than Eddie. Bev scoots in closer and gives them all a long look. 

“I’m going to ask a question.” She says seriously. Eddie nods at her to continue. “Stanley, truth or dare?” She asks. Stanley stares at her for a minute, before he burst out laughing. The rest of them follow suit. It’s about three minutes later, (Eddie would argue that it’s been  _ years _ .) that they all sober up. 

“Truth.” Stan says. Bev puts her finger to her chin, and narrows her eyebrows. 

“Got it!” She says, quickly. “Are you  _ really  _ Jewish?” She asks, but giggles her way through the end of the question. 

Stan blurts out a “Yes.” at the same time Richie says,

“Absolutely not, it’s all a ploy.” 

“I don’t even think you used that word correctly.” Ben says, giggling. Richie makes a mock-angry face at him.

“I don’t even think you  _ you’d  _ correctly.” Richie says. Eddie snorts, and Ben seems to be seriously considering if that was an insult or not. Ben opens his mouth and closes it again. It’s only about ten seconds later that they all begin laughing. Stan dares Bill to sing the ABC’s backward, which is ten times more challenging because Bill just starts saying random words when he gets to ‘X’. Ben asks Bev who her crush is when it’s his turn. Bev blushes deeply, the question minimally sobering her up. 

“Everyone knows it’s you, Ben.” Richie voices fondly. Ben gasps in mock surprise, earning a lighthearted  _ smack!  _ On the shoulder and a mildly embarrassed, ‘Shut up!’ from Bev. 

“Richie! Richie, truth or dare?” Stan says. Richie stares for a second, and then shrugs. 

“Dare.” He says. 

“Oooh!” Bill says, rather loudly. “T-Trashmouth T-Tuh-Tozier p-puts his b-buh-big boy puh-pants on!” Richie flips him off as Stan snaps his fingers. 

“I got it! You,” He says, pointing at Richie. “You have to kiss Eddie.” Bill gasps loudly, it eventually turning into a giggle. 

“Oh shit!” Mike says, his mouth the shape of an ‘O’, his eyes gleaming. Richie scoffs. 

“Pussies!” He says loudly, “Can’t think of anything better?” He says. Eddie’s face is hot, and his heart is pounding heavily. He swears he can’t feel his mouth move when he says, 

“Why, Rich?” His voice his quiet, a taunting whisper. Richie turns from his place leaning against the couch to look at him. “You scared?” Eddie doesn’t know where he gets the confidence. Richie’s eyes are focused on his mouth, a dazed look on his face. 

“Scared?” He repeats dumbly, still staring at Eddie’s lips. There’s a questioning look in his eyes, Eddie can see it through the heavy fog that resides in his brain. Eddie nods, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips. Richie’s eyes trail the motion, his breath hitching. 

“Are you gonna,” Beverly starts, looking at them, “Like, kiss him anytime today? Or are we gonna continue playing the waiting game we’ve already been playing the last two years.” Stan snorts, and Bill shushes her loudly. Eddie isn’t really listening, because Richie keeps edging closer. He can smell the familiar smell that  _ is  _ Richie. Tobacco, and a warm cologne. Richie raises his eyebrows, and says:

“I’m gonna do it.” Eddie nods again, Richie sucks in a breath, moving impossible closer, till their noses are touching. “Okay, so I’ll just-” He starts again, but Eddie doesn’t give him the chance. Eddie curls his fingers into Richie’s soft hair, and pulls him in. He expects it to be quick, he expects the feeling of his lips touching Richie’s to be fleeting. He doesn’t expect the sudden rush of blood to his head, or the tingling that feels as though it starts where they’re joined and continues through him. He doesn’t expect the gasp he lets out, or the tightening or his hand in Richie’s locks, or Richie curling his hand around Eddie’s waist. Richie slides his lips against Eddie, and Eddie kisses back. They stay like that for fifteen seconds, at the most. Richie pulls away first, and Eddie lies to himself and says that he doesn’t mind. Richie stares at him for a second, and Eddie leans back in to peck him once more. Richie gives him a warm smile. Eddie stares at him, almost in awe, and gives him a breathless laugh. Richie notices the audience almost at the same time Eddie does. They both blush, Richie flopping down into his original position. Bev has her mouth open, and Bill actually starts clapping. They all laugh, Eddie weakly yelling: 

“Shut up!” The group calms down, and Richie dares Mike to do...something. Eddie isn’t really listening, he keeps his eyes on Richie. Takes note of his flushed cheeks, and his mussed hair, (courtesy of Eddie’s nimble fingers.) and his bright smile he wears like a pro. Richie must feel him staring, because he turns and looks at Eddie. Richie gives him a big smile, and Eddie returns it. 

_ Fuck.  _ Eddie thinks to himself.  _ You are so fucking screwed, Kaspbrak.  _ And he his, but then he hears Richie laugh, and decides that  _ screwed  _ isn’t the worst thing to be. 

There is a certain shift between them, after that night. It’s a good one, but they don’t talk about it. 

\----

Five, 17

Eddie doesn’t jump when he hears a quiet crash against his right window pane, doesn’t jump when he hears the  _ thump, thump, thump,  _ of heavy footsteps in black combat boots ascending up the rocky, wooden ladder. He doesn’t jump when his window, left unlocked for nights very much like this one, slides open and a lanky, Richie Tozier shaped silhouette stumbles in. His window shuts, and he leans over to switch on the light next to him. 

“Hey Eds.” Richie says softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek in a greeting. Eddie doesn’t wipe it away this time. Eddie doesn’t give him shit for calling him Eds. 

“Hey Rich.” He says, scooting over to the opposite side of his bed. Richie likes sleeping where Eddie has been, because it’s warm. Eddie doesn’t mind. Eddie would do anything for Richie. Richie is dressed in a warm looking pair of gray sweats, and thrown over a bright red sweatshirt his denim jacket. Richie slips it off and climbs in next to Eddie. Richie leans his back against the headboard and sighs. Eddie reaches over and removes Richie glasses for him, because Richie will forget and sleep with themon if he doesn't. 

“Time is it?” Richie asks. Eddie looks over at the digital clock on his nightstand. It reads 3:42 in harsh, red lettering. 

“Almost four.” Eddie says. Richie nods and sucks in a breath. Eddie waits patiently, knowing that Richie will talk if he wants to. After many years of Eddie  _ begging  _ Richie to tell him why he crawled over at ungodly hours of the night, and why he never wanted to go home, Richie finally gave in on one horrible night, just after Eddie had stopped trying. “You okay?” He asks, more to calm the worried beating of his heart than anything else. No matter how many time they do this, it never makes it any easier for Eddie. Eddie finds himself worried all the time. Richie nods, 

“Yea.” And then, “No.” Which forever is followed by, “I will be, don’t you worry Eds.” Eddie scoffs. 

“Shut up.” But it holds no heat, and Helen Keller her damn self could hear the worry laced in it. Eddie scoots closer, so their shoulders are touching. “Was it her again?” he asks, and Richie shakes his head. Eddie never refers to the woman as Richie’s mom, partly because Richie asked him not to, and partly because Eddie noticed the way Richie would flinch whenever the word was mentioned. 

“No, uh,” He starts, the tightness of his voice making Eddie’s heart clench. “My dad.” Eddie flinches and nods silently. “He just told me to get out, said I was stressful.” Eddie rolled his eyes. Richie’s father was a royal douchebag. “It was like I was his fucking, I don't know.” Richie swipes under his eyes. “Like I was an employee. Like he was trying to fire me and put it gently.” Richie sniffs, and Eddie slips his hand into Richie’s. 

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, because there's not much more he can say. Richie gives his hand a good squeeze, before he crumples. His body caves in on itself, and his hand squirms out of Eddie’s grip to press into his eyelids. Eddie hers him inhale shakily, and he moves from his position right next to Richie, to sitting on his knees in front of him. “Richie, hey.” He says, pulling the boy, this loud, bright, boy who has never looked any smaller into his arms. Richie’s body shakes, almost violently and Eddie can feel Richie’s tears in his neck. He doesn’t care. Eddie cards his fingers through the tangled mop of curls that rest on Richie’s head, wondering if Richie had showered. He remembers the time last year when Richie came over because his parents forgot to pay the water bill. He thought that was the worst of it. Eddie presses a kiss into Richie’s hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” He let’s the nickname slip out of his mouth, and he makes no attempt to shove it back in. Eddie finds that whenever they are most vulnerable, they let the wall of;  _ I don’t treat you like a normal friend would, but I keep my distance, because no one else will understand _ come down. 

Richie isn’t a loud cryer, he never has been. He shakes, and he sniffles and the tears fall almost silently. Eddie made the mistake of asking him how he managed to keep so quiet when he cried, considering Eddie sobs, and he sobs loud. Richie told him it was from practice, so his dad wouldn’t rush in and tell him to shut up. Eddie cried that night, too. Richie tightens his arms around Eddie momentarily, squeezing him. Eddie squeezes back. Richie presses a kiss to Eddie’s sweater-clad shoulder, his neck, and his cheek before moving back. Eddie’s hand moves from Richie’s hair down to his shoulder. He leaves it there, a gentle pressure. It grounds Richie. “Didn’t wanna cry.” Richie says, a pout on his lips. Richie does that too. Tries to joke around with Eddie, make Eddie stop worrying. He only worries more. 

“It’s okay.” Eddie says firmly. Like he does every time. Richie nods, wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sweater, (Eddie cringes.) and wipes under his eyes with his sweatshirt folded over his hands. (Eddie melts.) “Music?” Eddie asks, and Richie gives him his brightest smile. Eddie gets up and strolls to his record player. Richie liked the sound of scratchy old records when he was sad. Eddie knows it’s because the only form of music that plays throughout his house is this dreary old radio. Any differentiating noise from  _ that  _ calms Richie down. Eddie grabs the David Bowie record he has, because it’s Richie’s favorite, and puts it on. The soft melody fills his ears, and he turns around to walk back towards his bed. Richie is staring at him, a fond look on his face. Edie gives him a small, warm smile, and slips back in next to him. Eddie lays down, and so does Richie. Richie leans his head on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie finds his body calm down once they’re touching again. 

“You make me so happy.” Richie murmurs suddenly. Eddie inhales, a wispy feeling circling around his stomach. 

“You make me happy, too.” He says back, softly. It’s true. Eddie knows the role he’s supposed to play. It’s the same one that everyone else in the group performs so well. He’s supposed to love Richie, secretly, and pretend to tolerate him to his face. As they get older, it gets harder. Richie is a lot to handle, obviously. He always has been. He’s loud, and he’s rude, and he moves too much and talks too fast and he’s the most goddamned caring person Eddie has ever met. Richie loves his friends, and he loves  _ hard.  _ He’s proven to each of them, over the years, that he would die for them. He thinks that if the rest of the club saw Richie, the Richie that he only saves for Eddie, they would find it so much harder to brush him off. So much harder to roll their eyes at him, or say an almost always deserving.  _ ‘Beep beep, Richie.’  _ Eddie finds it almost impossible. 

“You mean so much to me it almost scares me sometimes.” Richie says, and Eddie’s heart might aswell be a puddle on the ground. A bright red heat flushes to his cheeks, and he smiles softly. 

“I know.” He says.

“What?”

“I know,” Eddie continues softly. “Because I feel it every time I’m around you.” It’s sappy, but it’s true. The  _ rush  _ he gets when he sees Richie is unlike anything he has ever felt before. It’s like being enveloped in honey. It’s thick, and sweet and warm. Richie glances up at him and stares right into his eyes. Eddie pushes his nose against Richie’s and moves to turn off the light on his nightstand. Richie lets him.

He lays back down and resumes the same position. The song playing comes to an end, and a new one starts. Richie wiggles so they’re nose to nose, and sighs. Eddie closes his eyes, and the warmth of Richie, the dark of the room and the soft melodic music lulls him to sleep. Not before he hears a voice, rough and sweet, whisper; “Thank you.” 

_ No.  _ he thinks,  _ No, thank you. Thank you so much. _

_ \---- _

+One, 17:

Eddie is sitting on the steps outside the arcade when Richie tells him. They’re shoulder to shoulder, as always. Eddie’s ice cream drips down his hand, and he is constantly wiping it off. After a while, he gets so annoyed that he sighs loudly. Richie turns to look at him, and Eddie hands him his dripping cone with an exasperated look on his face. Richie smiles knowingly. Eddie reaches into his fanny pack, (Which he definitely still carries, by the way.) and grabs the portable hand sanitizer that Richie had gotten him for Christmas. Along with other things, of course. He likes this one best. He squeezes it and rubs his hands together. Finally satisfied, he looks back up at Richie and holds his hand out for his cone. 

“I’m in love with you.” Richie says. Eddie’s not sure if it just slipped out, or if Richie had planned it. He gasps lightly and blushes. 

“What?”   
“I’m in love with you.” Richie says again, Shrugging simply. As if anything was  _ simple.  _

“I fucking heard you the first time, Einstein. Oh my god.” He says, because his brain is moving so fast, and so slow. Richie laughs at him, a small embarrassed laugh, Eddie gapes. “Are you-,” He fumbles. “Are you like, serious? Or is this just one of your  _ things?”  _

“My things?”

“Yea, you know.” Eddie says, eyes wild. “When you say shit just to say shit. Or you say something and you mean another.” 

“I didn’t realized I did those things.” Richie says, and Eddie wants to fucking  _ kill  _ him. 

“ _ Shut up Richie!”  _ He says. He turns to face him. “Are you serious?” He asks. Richie flushes, and looks down. 

“I-uh-,”

“ _ Richie.”  _ Eddie all but begs. 

“Okay! Fine! Yes!” Richie exclaims. “Yes! I’m in love with you. Like big, queer, love. It’s weird, I know.” He says, speaking so fast. Realization fills Eddie’s head. Richie  _ loves  _ him. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to like, change anything. I just-” Eddie presses his lips against Richie’s almost remnant of their first kiss, which feels like forever ago. Richie’s mouth tastes like ice cream. 

Eddie scolds him in between kisses. 

“You.”  _ Kiss.  _ “Are.”  _ Kiss.  _ “An idiot!”  _ Kiss.  _ Eddie lets’ their lips slide together before pulling away. 

“So-”

“I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen.” Eddie says, and Richie’s mouth snaps shut. Eddie gives a breathless laugh, kissing him once more. The pure euphoria he feels is dizzying. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for so long, Richie, oh my god.” Richie makes an offended noise. 

“Waiting for  _ me?”  _ He says. “What, like I wasn’t obvious enough?” Eddie scoffs.

“You’re like that with everyone, Richie.” 

“Bullshit!” Richie exclaims. Eddie stares at him for a second, before bursting out laughing. Richie glares at him, but the smile slowly spreading across his cheeks is a dead giveaway. “Stop laughing!” He says.

“I’m so happy.” Eddie gushes, leaning in to kiss Richie. “You make me so  _ happy.”  _ Eddie pecks his lips again. Richie strokes Eddie’s cheek. 

“Holy shit.” Richie says. Eddie pales. 

“What? What is it?” Eddie says, glancing around.  _ Fuck.  _ What if Bowers was there? They’re so screwed if-

“Are we, like, boyfriend's now?” Richie asks. “Cause that’s super gay.” Eddie snorts. 

“Your tongue was down my throat thirty seconds ago, but  _ boyfriends  _ is crossing the line?” Richie shrugs, and presses his lips back to Eddie’s.

“Okay. Walk me home  _ boyfriend.”  _ Richie says. 

“I don’t remember saying yes.” Eddie jokes.

_ Yes.  _ Eddie thinks to himself.  _ Everyday, always. Yes. For you? Anything.  _

  



End file.
